a sweet-tempered, sunny hopefulness, in which, through years when
the family fortune had been growing beautifully less in his hands,
Dick was still making arrangements which were to bring in wonderful
results, till one night a sudden hemorrhage from the lungs settled
all his earthly accounts in an hour, and left Miss Dorcas and Mrs.
Betsey without a male relative in the world.
One of the last moves of brother Dick had been to take all the
sisters' United States stock and invest it for them in the Squantum
and Patuxet Manufacturing Company, where, he confidently assured them,
it would in time bring them an income of fifty per cent.
For four years after his death, however, only a moderate dividend
was declared by the company, but always with brilliant promises for
the future; the fifty per cent., like the "good time coming" in the
song, was a thing to look forward to, as the end of many little
retrenchments and economies; and now suddenly comes this letter,
announcing to them an indefinite suspension of their income.
Mrs. Betsey could scarcely be made to believe it.
"Why, they've got all our money; are they going to keep it, and not
pay us anything?"
"That seems to be their intention," said Miss Dorcas grimly.
"But, Dorcas, I wouldn't have it so. I'd rather have our money back
again in United States stock."
"So had I."
"Well, if you write and ask them for it, and tell them that you _must_
have it, and can't get along without, won't they send it back to you?"
"No, they won't think of such a thing. They never do business that
way."
"Won't? Why, I never heard of such folks. Why, there's no justice in
it."
"You don't understand these things, Betsey; nor I, very well. All I
know is, that Dick took our money and bought stock with it, and we are
stockholders of this company."
"And what is being a stockholder?"
"As far as I can perceive, it is this: when old women like you and
me are stockholders, it means that a company of men take our money
and use it for their own purposes, and pay us what they like, when it
comes convenient; and when it's not convenient, they don't pay us at
all. It is borrowing people's money, without paying interest."
"Why, that is horrid. Why, it's the most unjust thing I ever heard
of," said Mrs. Betsey. "Don't you think so, Dorcas?"
"Well, it seems so to me; but women never understand business. Dick
used to say so. The fact is, old women have no business anywhere,"
said Miss Dorcas bitterly. "It's time we were out of the world."
"I'm sure I haven't wanted to live so very much," said Mrs. Betsey,
tremulously. "I don't want to die, but I had quite as lieve _be_ dead."
"Come, Betsey, don't let us talk that way," said Miss Dorcas. "We
sha'n't gain anything by flying in the face of Providence."
"But, Dorcas, I don't think it can be quite as bad as you think.
People couldn't be so bad, if they knew just how much we wanted our
money. Why, we haven't anything to go on--only think! The company has
been making money, you say?"
"Oh, yes, never so large profits as this year; but, instead of paying
the stockholders, they have voted to put up a new mill and enlarge the
business."
"Who voted so?"
"The stockholders themselves. As far as I can learn, that means one or
two men who have bought all the stock, and now can do what they like."
"But couldn't _you_ go to the stockholders' meeting and vote?"
"What good would it do, if I have but ten votes, where each of these
men has five hundred? They have money enough. They don't need this
income to live on, and so they use it, as they say, to make the
property more valuable; and perhaps, Betsey, when we are both dead,
it will pay fifty per cent. to somebody, just as Dick always said it
would."
"But," said Mrs. Betsey, "of what use will that be to us, when what
we want is something to live on now? Why, we can't get along without
income, Dorcas, don't you see?"
"I think I do," said Miss Dorcas, grimly.
"Why, why, what shall we do?"
"Well, we can sell the house, I suppose."
"Sell the house!" said poor little Mrs. Betsey, aghast at the thought;
"and where could we go? and what should we do with all our things? I'd
rather die, and done with it; and if we got any money and put it into
anything, people would just take it and use it, and not pay us income;
or else it would all go just as my money did that Dick put into that
Aurora bank. That was going to make our everlasting fortune. There
was no end to the talk about what it would do--and all of a sudden
the bank burst up, and my money was all gone--never gave me back a
cent! and _I_ should like to know where it went to. Somebody had that
ten thousand dollars of mine, but it wasn't me. No, we won't sell the
house; it's all we've got left, and as long as it's here we've got a
right to be _somewhere_. We can stay here and starve, I suppose!--you
and I and Jack."
Jack, perceiving by his mistress's tones that something was the
matter, here jumped into her lap and kissed her.
"Yes, you poor doggie," said Mrs. Betsey, crying; "we'll all starve
together. How much money have you got left, Dorcas?"
Miss Dorcas drew out an old porte-monnaie and opened it.
"Twenty dollars."
"Oh, go 'way, Miss Dorcas; ye don't know what a lot I's got stowed
away in my old tea-pot!" chuckled a voice from behind the scenes, and
Dinah's woolly head and brilliant ivories appeared at the slide of the
china-closet, where she had been an unabashed and interested listener
to the conversation.
"Dinah, I'm surprised," said Miss Dorcas, with dignity.
"Well, y' can be surprised and git over it," said Dinah, rolling her
portly figure into the conversation. "All I's got to say is, dere
ain't no use for Mis' Betsey here to be worritin' and gettin' into a
bad spell 'bout money, so long as I's got three hundred dollars laid
up in my tea-pot. 'Tain't none o' your rags neither," said Dinah, who
was strong on the specie question--"good bright silver dollars, and
gold guineas, and eagles, I tucked away years ago, when your Pa was
alive, and money was plenty. Look a-heah now!"--and Dinah emphasized
her statement by rolling a handful of old gold guineas upon the
table--"Dare now; see dar! Don't catch me foolin' away no money wid
no banks and no stockholders. I keeps pretty tight grip o'mine. Tell
_you_, 'fore I'd let dem gemmen hab my money I'd braid it up in my
har--and den I'd know where 'twas when I wanted it."
"Dinah, you dear old soul," said Miss Dorcas, with tears in her eyes,
"you don't think we'd live on your money?"
"Dun no why you shouldn't, as well as me live on yourn," said Dinah.
"It's all in de family, and turn about's fair play. Why, good land!
Miss Dorcas, I jest lotted on savin't up for de family. You can use
mine and give it back agin when dat ar good time comes Massa Dick was
allers a-tellin' about."
Mrs. Betsey fell into Dinah's arms, and cried on her shoulder,
declaring that she couldn't take a cent of her money, and that they
were all ruined, and fell into what Dinah used to call one of her "bad
spells." So she swept her up in her arms forthwith and carried her
upstairs and put her to bed, amid furious dissentient barkings from
Jack, who seemed to consider it his duty to express an opinion in the
matter.
"Dar now, ye aggrevatin' critter, lie down and shet up," she said to
Jack, as she lifted him on to the bed and saw him cuddle down in Mrs.
Betsey's arms and lay his rough cheek against hers.
Dinah remembered, years before, her young mistress lying weak and
faint on that same spot, and how there had been the soft head of a
baby lying where Jack's rough head was now nestling, and her heart
swelled within her.
"Now, then," she said, pouring out some drops and giving them to her,
"you jest hush up and go to sleep, honey. Miss Dorcas and I, we'll fix
up this 'ere. It'll all come straight--now you'll see it will. Why, de
Lord ain't gwine to let you starve. Never see de righteous forsaken.
Jest go to sleep, honey, and it'll be all right when you wake up."
Meanwhile, Miss Dorcas had gone across the way to consult with Eva.
The opening of the friendship on the opposite side of the way had
been a relief to her from the desolateness and loneliness of her life
circle, and she had come to that degree of friendly reliance that she
felt she could state her dilemma and ask advice.
"I don't see any way but I must come to selling the house at last,"
said Miss Dorcas; "but I don't know how to set about it; and if we
have to leave, at our age, life won't seem worth having. I'm afraid
it would kill Betsey."
"Dear Miss Dorcas, we can't afford to lose you," said Eva. "You
don't know what a comfort it is to have you over there, so nice and
handy--why, it would be forlorn to have you go; it would break us all
up!"
"You are kind to say so," said Miss Dorcas; "but I can't help feeling
that the gain of our being there is all on one side."
"But, dear Miss Dorcas, why need you move? See here. A bright thought
strikes me. Your house is so large! Why couldn't you rent half of it?
You really don't need it all; and I'm sure it could easily be arranged
for two families. Do think of that, please."
"If it could be done--if anybody would want it!" said Miss Dorcas.
"Oh, just let us go over this minute and see," said Eva, as she threw
a light cloud of worsted over her head, and seizing Miss Dorcas by the
arm, crossed back with her, talking cheerfully.
"Here you have it, nice as possible. Your front parlor--you never sit
there; and it's only a care to have a room you don't use. And then
this great empty office back here--a dining-room all ready! and there
is a back shed that could have a cooking-stove, and be fitted into a
kitchen. Why, the thing is perfect; and there's your income, without
moving a peg! See what it is to have real estate!"
"You are very sanguine," said Miss Dorcas, looking a little brightened
herself. "I have often thought myself that the house is a great deal
larger than we need; but I am quite helpless about such matters. We
are so out of the world. I know nothing of business; real estate
agents are my horror; and I have no man to advise me."
"Oh, Miss Dorcas, wait now till I consult Harry. I'm sure something
nice could be arranged."
"I dare say," said Miss Dorcas, "if these rooms were in a fashionable
quarter we might let them; but the world has long since left our house
in the rear."
"Never mind that," said Eva. "You see _we_ don't mind fashion, and
there may be neighbors as good as we, of the same mind."
Eva already had one of her visions in her head; but of this she did
not speak to Miss Dorcas till she had matured it.
She knew Jim Fellows had been for weeks on the keen chase after
apartments, and that none yet had presented themselves as altogether
eligible. Alice had insisted on an economical beginning, and the
utmost prudence as to price; and the result had been, what is usual in
such cases, that all the rooms that would _do_ at all were too dear.
Eva saw at once in this suite of rooms, right across the way from
them, the very thing they were in search of. The rooms were large and
sunny, with a quaint, old-fashioned air of by-gone gentility that made
them attractive; and her artist imagination at once went into the work
of brightening up their tarnished and dusky respectability with a
nice little modern addition of pictures and flowers, and new bits of
furniture here and there.
Just as she returned from her survey, she found Jim in her own parlor,
with a thriving pot of ivy.
"Well, here's one for our parlor window, when we find one," said he.
"I'm a boy that gets things when I see them. Now you don't often see
an ivy so thrifty as this, and I've brought it to you to take care of
till I find the room!"
"Jim," said Eva, "I believe just what you want is to be found right
across the way from us, so that we can talk across from your windows
to ours."
"What! the old Vanderheyden house? Thunder!" said Jim.
Now, Jim was one of the class of boys who make free use of "thunder"
in conversation, without meaning to express anything more by it than a
state of slight surprise.
"What's up now?" he added. "I should as soon expect Queen Victoria to
rent Buckingham Palace as that the old ladies across the way would
come to letting rooms!"
"Necessity has no law, Jim." And then Eva told him Miss Dorcas's
misfortune.
"Poor old girls!" said Jim. "I do declare it's too thundering bad.
I'll go right over and rent the rooms; and I'll pay up square, too,
and no mistake."
"Shall I go with you?"
"Oh, you just leave that to me. Two are all that are needed in a
bargain."
In a few minutes, Jim was at his ease in front of Miss Dorcas, saying:
"Miss Dorcas, the fact is, I want to hire a suite of rooms. You see,
I'm going to have a wife before long, and nothing will suit her so
well as this neighborhood. Now, if you will only rent us half of your
house, we shall behave so beautifully that you never will be sorry you
took us in."
Miss Dorcas apologized for the rooms and furniture. They were old, she
knew--not in modern style--but such as they were, would he just go
through them? and Jim made the course with her. And the short of the
matter was, that the bargain was soon struck.
Jim stated frankly the sum he felt able to pay for apartments; to Miss
Dorcas the sum seemed ample enough to relieve all her embarrassments,
and in an hour he returned to the other side, having completed the
arrangement.
"There, now,--we're anchored, I think. The old folks and Aunt Maria
have been wanting me to marry on and live with them in the old hive,
but Jim doesn't put his foot into that trap, if he knows it. My wife
and I must have our own establishment, if it's only in two rooms. Now
it's all settled, if Allie likes it, and I know she will. By George,
it's a lucky hit! That parlor will brighten up capitally."
"You know, old furniture is all the rage now," said Eva, "and you can
buy things here and there as you want."
"Yes," said Jim; "you know I did buy a pair of brass andirons when
I was going to ask Allie to have me, and they'll be just the things
for the fireplace over there. Miss Dorcas apologized for the want of
those that belonged there by saying that her brother had taken them
to pieces to try some experiments in brass polishing, and never found
time to put them together again, and so parts of them got lost. I told
her it was a special providence that I happened to have the very pair
that were needed there; and there's a splendid sunny window for the
ivies on the south corner!"
"That old furniture is lovely," said Eva. "It's like a dark, rich
background to a picture. All your little bright modern things will
show so well over it."
"Well, I'm going to bring Allie down to go over it, this minute," said
Jim, who was not of the class that allow the grass to grow under their
feet.
Meanwhile, when little Mrs. Betsey came down to dinner, she found the
storm over, and clear, shining after rain.
"What, Mr. Fellows!" she exclaimed; "that dear, good young man that
was so kind to Jack! Why, Dorcas, what a providence! I'm sure it'll be
a mercy to have a man in the house once more!"
"Why, I'm sure," said Miss Dorcas, "your great fear that you wake me
up every night about, is that there _is_ a man in the house!"
"Oh, well," said Mrs. Betsey, laughing cheerfully; "you know what I
mean. I mean the right kind of a man. I've thought that those dreadful
burglars and creatures that break into houses where there's old silver
must find us out--because, Dorcas, really, that hat that we keep on
the entry table is so big and dusty, and so different from what they
wear now, they must know that no man wears a hat like that. I've
always told Dinah that--she knows I have, more than twenty times."
A snicker from the adjacent china-closet, where Dinah was listening,
confirmed this statement.
"Why, it's such a nice thing. Why, there's no end to it," said Mrs.
Betsey, whose cheerfulness increased with reflection. "A real _live_
man in the house!--and a young man, too!--and such a nice one; and
_dear_ Miss Alice--why, only think, bringing all her wedding clothes
to the house, and I don't doubt she'll show them all to me--and it'll
be so nice for Jack! won't it, Jack?"
Jack barked his assent vigorously, and a second explosive chuckle from
the china closet betrayed Dinah's profound sympathy. The faithful
creature was rolling and boiling in waves of triumphant merriment
behind the scenes. The conversation of her mistresses in fact appeared
to be a daily source of amusement to her, and Miss Dorcas was forced
to wink at this espionage, in consideration of Dinah's limited sources
of entertainment, and generally pretended not to know that she was
there.
On the present occasion, Dinah's contribution to the interview
was too evident to be ignored, but Miss Dorcas listened to it with
indulgence. A good prospect of regular income does, after all,
strengthen one's faith in Providence, and dispose one to be easily
satisfied with one's fellows.
_CHAPTER L._
EVA TO HARRY'S MOTHER.
Dear Mother: You've no idea how things have gone on within a short
time. I have been _so_ excited and _so_ busy, and kept in such a state
of constant consultation, for this past week, that I have had no time
to keep up my bulletins to you.
Well, dear mother, it is at last concluded that we are to have two
weddings on one day, the second week after Easter, when Alice is to be
married to Jim Fellows, and Angie to Mr. St. John.
Easter comes this year about the latest that it ever does, so that we
may hope for sunny spring weather, and at least a few crocuses and
hyacinths in the borders, as good omens for the future. I wish you
could choose this time to make your long-promised visit and see how
gay and festive we all are. Just now, every one is overwhelmed with
business, and the days go off very fast.
Aunt Maria is in her glory, as generalissimo of the forces and
dictator of all things. It is for just such crises that she was
born; she has now fairly enough to manage to keep her contented with
everybody, and everybody contented with her--which, by-the-bye, is not
always the case in her history.
It is decreed that the wedding is to be a morning one, in Mr. St.
John's little chapel; and that, after the reception at mamma's, Jim
will start with Alice to visit his family friends, and Angie and St.
John will go immediately on the steamer to sail for Europe, where
they will spend the summer in traveling and be back again in the
autumn. Meanwhile, they have engaged a house in that part of the city
where their mission work lies, and of course, like ours, it is on an
unfashionable street--a thing which grieves Aunt Maria, who takes
every occasion to say that Mr. St. John, being a man of independent
fortune, is entitled to live genteelly. I am glad, because they are
within an easy distance of us, which will be nice. Aunt Maria and
mamma are to see to getting the house all ready for them to go into
when they return.
Bolton is going over with them, to visit Paris! The fact is, since I
opened communication between him and Caroline, her letters to me have
grown short and infrequent, and her letters to him long and constant,
and the effect on him has been magical. I have never seen him in such
good spirits. Those turns of morbid depression that he used to have,
seem to be fading away gradually. He has been with us so much that I
feel almost as if he were a member of our family, and I cannot but
feel that our home has been a shelter and a strength to him. What
would it be to have a happy one of his own? I am sure he deserves it,
if ever kindness, unselfishness, and true nobleness of heart deserved
it: and I am sure that Caroline is wise enough and strong enough to
give him just the support that he needs.
Then there's Alice's engagement to Jim. I have long foreseen to
what her friendship for him would grow, and though she had many
hesitations, yet _now_ she is perfectly happy in it; and only think
how nice it is! They are to take half the old Vanderheyden house,
opposite to us, so that we can see the lights of each other's hearths
across from each other's windows.
Mother, doesn't it seem as if our bright, cosy, happy, free-and-easy
home was throwing out as many side-shoots as a lilac bush?
Just think; in easy vicinity, we shall have Jim and Alice, Angie and
St. John, and, as I believe, Bolton and Caroline. We shall be a guild
of householders, who hold the same traditions, walk by the same rule,
and mind the same things. Won't it be lovely? What nice "droppings
in" and visitings and tea-drinkings and consultings we shall have!
And it is not merely having good times either; but, Mother, the more
I think of it, the more I think the making of bright, happy _homes_
is the best way of helping on the world that has been discovered yet.
A _home_ is a thing that can't be for one's own self alone--at least
the kind of home we are thinking of; it reaches out on all sides and
helps and shelters and comforts others. Even my little experiment of a
few months ago shows me _that_; and I know that Angie's and St. John's
home will be even more so than ours. Angie was born to be a rector's
wife; to have a kind word and a smile and a good deed for everybody,
to love everybody dearly, and keep everybody bright and in good
spirits. It is amazing to see the change she has wrought in St. John.
He was fast getting into a sort of stringent, morbid asceticism; now
he is so gracious, so genial, and so entertaining,--he is like a rock,
in June, all bursting out with anemones and columbines in every rift.
As to Jim and Alice, you ought to see how happy they are in consulting
me about the arrangements of their future home in the Vanderheyden
house. And the best of it is, to see how perfectly delighted the
two old ladies are to have them there. You must know that there was
a sudden failure in Miss Dorcas's income which would have made it
necessary to sell the house had it not been for just this arrangement.
But they are as gracious and kind about it as if they were about to
receive guests; and every improvement and every additional touch of
brightness to the rooms seems to please them as much as if they were
going to be married themselves.
Miss Dorcas said to me that our coming to live in their neighborhood
had been the greatest blessing to them that ever had happened for
years--that it had opened a new life to them.
As to Maggie, dear Mother, she is becoming a real comfort to me. I do
think that all the poor girl's sorrows and sufferings have not been in
vain, and that she is now a true and humble Christian.
She has been very useful in this sudden hurry of work that has
fallen upon us, and seems really delighted to be so. In our group of
families, Maggie will always find friends. Angie wants her to come and
live with them when they begin housekeeping, and I think I shall let
her go.
I shall never forget the dreadful things I saw the night I went after
her. They have sunk deep into my heart; and I hope, Mother, I see more
clearly the deepest and noblest purpose of life, so as never again to
forget it.
But, meantime, a thousand little cares break and fritter themselves
on my heart, like waves on a rock. Everybody is running to me, every
hour. I am consulter and sympathizer and adviser, from the shape of a
bow and the positions of trimming up to the profoundest questions of
casuistry. They all talk to me, and I divide my heart among them all,
and so the days fly by with frightful rapidity, and I fear I shall get
little time to write, so pray come and see for yourself
Your loving
Eva.
_CHAPTER LI._
THE HOUR AND THE WOMAN.
It is said that Queen Elizabeth could converse in five languages, and
dictate to three secretaries at once, in different tongues, with the
greatest ease and composure.
Perhaps it might have been so--let us not quarrel with her laurels; it
only shows what women can do if they set about it, and is not a whit
more remarkable than Aunt Maria's triumphant management of all the
details of two weddings at one time.
That estimable individual has not, we fear, always appeared to
advantage in this history, and it is due to her now to say that nobody
that saw her proceedings could help feeling the beauty of the right
person in the right place.
Many a person is held to be a pest and a nuisance because there isn't
enough to be done to use up his capabilities. Aunt Maria had a passion
for superintending and directing, and all that was wanting to bring
things right was an occasion when a great deal of superintendence and
direction was wanting.